


moments pass slow

by Meskeet



Series: h/c bingo fills 2017 [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Families of Choice, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Military Families, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Young Fareeha "Pharah" Amari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:26:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meskeet/pseuds/Meskeet
Summary: Ana recovers from an accident on the mission. Whether that is in spite of the team's best efforts... well, that depends on who you ask.“Whatever you want,” Ana says as Jack strides through the door. “The answer is no."





	moments pass slow

**Author's Note:**

> Scooting along on my h/c bingo. Didn't post yesterday, so wanted to make sure I could get something up today. =) I've been missing this fandom and wanted to polish off this fic for posting, so this was the perfect time to do so. 
> 
> For the prompt, "hospital stays".

Maybe, just _maybe_ if Ana had thought about the repercussions of being blown off of a rooftop and onto the not-so-friendly street of London, she would have reconsidered abandoning her safe sniper’s perch to help out Jesse McCree.

Oh, sure, it’s not _unusual_ to be benched due to injuries. Some injuries just take a little bit longer shake off, a little bit longer to get back up from and be able to start swinging again.  She’s not even the first of the original team to be laid up from a femoral shaft fracture – that honor went to Gabriel, who had managed to make three cadets cry when they smiled at the artwork Fareeha had left over his cast.

Here’s the thing, though. It doesn’t matter that Angela allowed her to leave the infirmary in favor of setting up camp in one of the wide conference rooms with floor to ceiling widows that allow her to glare down at Zurich below. It doesn’t matter that Wilhelm carried in an entire bookshelf for her to browse through, or that she has a stack of half-completed mission reports about to topple over on the table in front of her.

What matters is that apparently half the base has decided that she’s a sympathetic ear, and the armchair Torbjorn and Lena had dragged in for her is definitely lacking wheels to help her escape.

God help her.

\--

Contrary to popular belief, Ana does _not,_ in fact, live on base – but unlike base, her own home isn’t easily accessible by someone with less than two properly working legs and the lack of ability to overcome a set of stairs.  Although Jack’s extended the invitation to Fareeha to stay with her for the next week, Ana’s homesickness is only slightly mollified by the sight of her daughter running circles around half of Blackwatch.

The _slightly_ is because Ana is only three chapters into _Slaughterhouse-Five_ when she pauses mid-page turn at the sound of a loud crash and a yelp. Apparently the traps Fareeha had scattered between the doorway and her chair – or rather, the various objects she had forgotten to clean despite Ana’s dire warnings if she left a mess behind – had been effective at catching at least one Overwatch agent by surprise.  

“Cadet?”

She can’t quite keep the amusement out of her voice even as she slips her bookmark into place, the worn fabric long faded by time.

“Sorry, Captain,” Oxton’s sheepish voice is accompanied by the agent picking herself off the ground.

Ana nods at the chair across from her. “Have a seat,” she offers, trying to decide why Lena had invaded her temporary residence. Ana doesn’t reopen her book even when the cadet remains quiet.

As expected, the silence doesn’t hold for long. “Commander Reyes kicked me out of training because I was _too loud_.”

 _Don’t smile._ Ana bit down on her cheek, trying to keep her expression passive. “Did he now?” she asks evenly, slowly opening her book. _It had been funny at first. Billy was starting to get worried about it, about his mind-_

“Apparently stealth training is a ‘waste of his time and mine’ when he won’t be assigning me to any covert missions anyway,” Lena says. She’s perched on the edge of the chair, practically vibrating with energy.

Ana’s lips twitch, ever so slightly. Luckily Lena doesn’t notice.

“ _Fareeha_ apparently can out-sneak me. _Fareeha!_ Your seven-year-old daughter!”

If she laughs now, Lena will be even more crushed than she already is. Ana hums, flipping another page. She’s off-duty, by Angela’s orders. That means she doesn’t have to try to clean up Reyes’ messes, as admittedly amusing as they tend to be.

“Fareeha spends too much time with Jesse McCree. I’m hoping she’ll grow out of it before it’s too late,” Ana tells her.

“But-”

“Oxton,” Ana says. Lena meets her eyes. “You are a full-fledged Overwatch agent – King’s Row proved as much, if you have any doubts – _but_ you are not part of Blackwatch. Gabriel only runs these sessions because Jack makes him, and frankly, I agreed with Jack that it would be beneficial to the majority of our agents to receive some form of supplemental instruction.”

The scowl looks odd on Oxton’s normally cheerful face. “I can learn,” she says. “But Reyes barely gave me a chance.”

People – especially politicians – say plenty about Gabriel Reyes, but they rarely claim that he makes impulse decisions. Ana raises an eyebrow, rereading the same sentence for the third time in a row. “Hm?”

“I set off the alarms about five minutes in,” Lena says, sheepish.

Ah. “Yes, that would probably do it.”

They sit there for a few more moments, until Lena huffs. Ana doesn’t hide her smile this time – they all know that Tracer’s strong suit is not patience.

Or stealth, apparently.

Since it seems as though Oxton isn’t quite satisfied by her response, Ana sets her book down with her own sigh. “If you believe – and _want_ – that you would benefit from continued instruction, you’ll need to show him that you’re able to improve.”

Lena frowns, thinking. Ana raises an eyebrow at her. “I would start with Fareeha,” she says pointedly. “She is small, so her style would be better suited to you than McCree or another agent’s.”

At the very least, it will keep her daughter occupied while they are here for the next few days, and maybe Oxton will manage to learn something. Ana props her good leg up beside her bad, hearing the spine as she opens her book once more. That’s Lena and Fareeha taken care of – and Reyes too, if her daughter can be convinced to use her manipulation talents to convince Reyes.

Lena brightens up, apparently not insulted by the idea of learning from someone who hasn’t quite reached double digits in terms of age. Ana is rather dubious that she’ll ever be placed on a covert strike team, but with her quick mobility, a quiet Tracer would be a lethal one.

“That’s a fantastic idea! Why didn’t I think of that sooner?” She’s out of her chair with a blink, almost through the door by the time Ana hears her parting shot, “Thanks Captain! I owe you one!”

\--

Ana is working her way through _And Then There Were None_ with a grimace when the door cracks open and Genji slips through like a ghost. Ana doesn’t acknowledge him. If anyone can sit quietly and not disturb her reading, it would be this particular Blackwatch member.

She’s read this particular novel at least five times, which means she’s able to keep half an eye on Shimada while she idly turns the pages. He’s well aware that she’d protested his inclusion in the program, which means that unlike Oxton or McCree, he is likely reluctant to request her assistance with anything of importance. He trusts Angela more than her, which means that Shimada probably has little desire to consult on anything medical, for fear that she’ll take the opportunity to bench him.

Technically, she is his superior in the chain of command. Reyes, however, is enough of a bastard for them to deal with without her adding her own two cents into the bargain and stepping on his toes in the process, so the matter is likely not mission related.

So, yes, she’s a bit curious about what he could possibly want.

To her surprise, Shimada occupies himself by flitting about the small room. Occasionally, the prosthetics seem to get in the way of…well, whatever he’s decided to occupy himself with, and Genji lets out a little _hn_ each time, sounding progressively more annoyed with every small noise.

Unintentional on his part or not, Ana finds herself grinding her teeth a little bit more harshly each time he makes that same disappointed little sound. She’s just about to force herself to unclench her jaw and say something when she hears a small _chink_. Reflex makes her tense, but she identifies the sound after just a moment.

“It is nothing extravagant,” Genji says quietly, breaking the silence as he turns. “But this ought to do.”

Ana can’t help but smile as he offers her a porcelain cup, the sweet aroma of tea reaching her nose. Her hands shake ever so slightly as she takes the warm cup from him, and he pauses until she is able to hold it steady. Genji backs away, settling in the chair across from her. Unlike Lena, he doesn’t sink into the cushion, but perches at the edge.

“ _Shukran_.” The sincerity rings clear in her voice as she sips at the brew. It is a leaf Ana is unfamiliar with, a hint of jasmine lingering in the airy, light taste.

Ana hesitates, but leaves her book beside her. It is an old friend, one that will not begrudge her the interruption.

“I am still recovering from Dr. Ziegler’s surgery. She disapproves of the caffeine, but it sits well with me. I hoped it might do the same with you.”

 _Unlike many other things, I am sure,_ Ana thinks, not attempting subtly as she gives his cybernetics a quick glance. She is on enough medicine from Dr. Ziegler that the thought of eating makes her pull a face.

“An excellent choice,” she agrees. Shimada appears… well, more relaxed that she’s ever seen him. He doesn’t appear on the brink between reason and frothing rage, no energy humming at his every movement like he’ll find a fight if one doesn’t break out soon. Ana feels comfortable enough to settle back into her armchair, not sure when she’d sat up and braced herself. Genji shifts ever so slightly when she does.

 _I have been unfair to you,_ she almost says, the words on the tip of her tongue. But – well, they don’t feel quite right in her head. Ana _had_ protested saving his life after his near-death at the hands of his brother – not out of any personal grudge, but for fear of what they intended to do with him. She was well-aware that Overwatch’s motivations had been less than altruistic, as they seemed to tend towards these days. Still, watching Genji recklessly throw himself towards every battle had done nothing to allay her fears.

Perhaps, however, Reyes had a point. Shimada hasn’t quite earned her trust, not yet. Watching him sip at his own tea, body still and more controlled than she’s ever seen it, makes her hope.

“Perhaps we can do a full ceremony after I am recovered,” she suggests, her voice light. “I have several blends of my own you may enjoy.”

Genji’s head tilts to the side, considering. A slow nod.

“I would like that,” is all he says.

Perhaps she had been right in one way, at least. He was the Blackwatch agent least likely to disturb her silence. Ana gives a contented hum, sipping at her tea once again.

“I look forward to it.”

\--

Her next visitor would have been welcome, if her chosen entrance had been anything other than an explosion of wild energy in the room. Ana almost ducks for cover as the missile heads her way and dives behind her chair, knocking the end table over and sending books flying in all directions. Ana gives her bookmark a forlorn glance as it flutters from between the pages of _Leaving Time_.

“Hello, Fareeha,” she says over the sound of the door’s loud _bang._

“Shh!” Fareeha hisses back. Ana grimaces as Fareeha squirms underneath the skirt of the chair, jostling her leg. “I’m hiding!”

Clearly, Oxton isn’t keeping to her assigned babysitting duties. Ana’s waiting for Angela to arrive with her next dose of medicine, which means that she feels no guilt whatsoever for her less than charitable thoughts.

Ana snags one of the books that had fallen within reach and leafs it open without checking the title. She vaguely recognizes it as one of Wilhelm’s recommendations, which will be a pleasant change from Torbjorn’s list. Although he had thrown several good reads into the mix, Ana has a feeling that more than a few had been added just to annoy her.

Ana is quietly plotting her revenge on Torbjorn when the door opens, this time with much less vigor than before. Dr. Ziegler raises an eyebrow at Fareeha’s aftermath before righting the table, somehow managing to produce a coaster, and setting a glass of water down on the top. The medic hands over two small pills, amusement crinkling her eyes as Ana makes a face in her direction.

“Do you know why I just passed Commander Reyes in the hall?” she says, her words just slightly louder than would be necessary had she just been speaking to Ana. “He seemed rather flustered.”

Ana shrugs, picking up the glass. Angela hadn’t even bothered to throw a few chips of ice in to lessen the taste of the dissolvable pill. “Perhaps he misplaced another turtleneck.”

“Perhaps indeed,” Angela says as a slight giggle comes from beneath the chair. She crosses her arms, glaring at Ana until the commander goes through both pills. Ana sticks out her tongue at her, ignoring Angela’s huff. “I don’t want to see you on that leg for at least another day,” the medic says more seriously. “I don’t want you to permanently damage any nerves by running around  _even on crutches.”_

Ana points down to where Fareeha’s gone very, very quiet and gives Angela a stern glance, mouthing _cheater_ at her. The medic gives her a cheery smile and a wave. “I’ll be back in four hours,” she says, ignoring Ana’s hand gesture. “ _Rest_ , if you can. I’ll see if I can distract Reyes, I need to update his baselines anyway.”

“You’re going to have to lock the door,” Ana grumbles. “You’re the fifth _unwelcome_ person to come in since this morning.”

Angela departs, saying something that sounds vaguely rude and threatening in German. Ana makes a note to look it up later, even as Fareeha bumps the chair underneath her in her attempts to crawl out from her hiding spot.

She can’t quite conceal her wince of pain as her lap suddenly becomes full with her seven-year-old daughter. Fareeha’s eyes are wide, her lip cracking from where she’s clearly been chewing on it again, and her hands are clenched into tiny fists in her lap.

“Are you going to get better?” she asks, voice pitching higher than normal. She blinks at Ana, a small flush rising on her neck.

Ana forces a smile, a little uneasy by the sight of Fareeha’s eyes being nearly level with her own. One day, it won’t take Fareeha climbing into her lap for Ana to no longer look down on her.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Ana says, shifting slightly. Fareeha must pick up on her strained tone, because she immediately moves to burrow into Ana’s side.

“Dr. Ziegler said you could permanently damage your – your-”

“My nerves, yes. But that’s only if I act like Gabriel or Jack and run around immediately after being injured,” Ana says quickly. Fareeha gives a small sniff and _damn it, Angela._ The second she’s ambulatory again, she’s going to put the doctor through field training again just because she can. “But we don’t need to worry about that, because I’m going to stay right here while I get better.”

“I like being on base. I get to be with you because you’re not on missions,” Fareeha says, sounding despondent. “Jesse gives me ice cream and Gabe–”

Fareeha cuts off, giving another small sniff. Ana doesn’t scold her when she wipes her nose on her sleeve.

When her daughter doesn’t continue, she brushes Fareeha’s tousled hair back. “What’s wrong?”

Fareeha doesn’t say anything, just hides her face underneath Ana’s arm and goes still. Ana pulls her tighter, ignoring the ache in her leg. “ _Fareeha,_ ” she says, gentle.

“I overheard Gabe and Jesse fighting,” Fareeha mumbles. “Gabriel said that if Jesse wasn’t acting stupid, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. But – but Jesse wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone, right?”

Ana freezes and if Fareeha wasn’t lying half on top of her, she would go hunt down the both of them and beat sense into them, Ziegler’s orders or not.

“Shh,” Ana hums, fingers tapping a beat on the chair arm until she makes them stop. “Accidents happen in fieldwork. Jesse didn’t know that he was in danger and I went to help him out.”

“So it _is_ his fault that you got hurt?” Fareeha asks plaintively. “Gabe was really, really mad.”

She was going to _kill_ them. They wouldn’t be able to see it coming. “No, it wasn’t his fault. Gabriel is just worried.” _And an idiot._ _And dead._

“But if they were there, why didn’t they protect you?”

Ana smiles at that, squeezing Fareeha again. This one is easier to answer. “Because it’s my job to protect them,” she replies. “That’s why I go on missions, to watch over them while they get their job done.”

Fareeha is quiet, clearly thinking that one over. “If something happens to you,” she says slowly, “who will watch over me?” It’s so soft that Ana doesn’t know if she meant to say it, but the words throb more harshly than her broken leg.

She doesn’t lie to Fareeha, as a rule. Ana knows that Fareeha will encounter enough polite lies in her life that Ana has avoided adding to the number. It’s a reality of Overwatch that sometimes, agents don’t make it back from missions.

“Any of our family,” she says firmly. “Jack, Gabriel, Jesse, Wilhelm – you know that they’d fight over you, if I let them. _Fareeha.”_ The name is sharper than she intends, but she knows it catches Fareeha’s attention. “If I am able, I will always come back to you.”

“Promise?”

The word is mumbled into her side, the feeling of it vibrating through Ana’s frame. Ana tips her chin, letting her head rest on top of Fareeha’s own.

“I promise.”

\--

When Ana wakes, a light blanket lies over her instead of Fareeha, carefully tucked around her. Ana feels for the edges, loosening it to free her arm to reach for the glass of water she knows will be there.

As her eyes adjust to the faint darkness, the warmth in her chest takes her by surprise. Jesse McCree sprawls across the chair across from her, booted feet crossed on top of the table and his hat tipped to cover his face despite the dim lighting. Both arms are tight against his chest, his mouth hanging slightly open as he slumbers.

For a moment, she savors the sight. It’s rare to see Jesse lower his guard, even on base and among friends, when he is in good health. The harsh lines on his cheeks have softened, wiping away the stress and tension that make him look far older than he actually is. He looks less like the Blackwatch agent and outlaw she knows him to be and more like a kid playing dress-up.

Then, because this is McCree and he made Fareeha cry, Ana tosses a book at him.

Well, more at the table than at the man himself, but the resultant _thump_ before the novel slides across the table and hits the heels of his boots startles Jesse awake. His hands fly to his holster, fumbling for the gun he’s not allowed to carry on base. Ana raises an eyebrow when he shakes off the last of sleep and looks at her from under hooded eyes.

“Ma’am,” he says, the picture of perfect contriteness mingled with befuddlement.

“Agent. It could be my age getting to me, but I recall Dr. Ziegler informing you that you should use a sling for the next week.”

Unlike him, she doesn’t need to feign innocence. Instead, Ana simply stares at him until he takes off his hat and mashes it back onto his head, searching the room as though it will provide him some excuse to give. Surprisingly, it looks as though someone has taken the time to attempt to start sorting through the mess Fareeha had left behind – the books have been placed in neat piles on the ground, arranged by genre. A small tray of cheese and crackers sits on the side table, still untouched despite the amount of time it must have been sitting there.

“Ah – well, it’s somewhere in here,” he says slowly, still scanning the room. “Might’ve put it down when I sat down for a nap.”

Considering the sling isn’t haphazardly shoved between seat cushions, Ana isn’t exactly inclined to believe that he’d waited until he was ready to nap to ditch the sling. She raises her eyebrow at the faint dodge, giving the pristine room another once over. It’s not exactly likely that _Fareeha_ restored the room to some sort of livable state.

Ana tries not to think of the room as _livable_ , exactly. That would mean resigning herself to dying in here with her legacy as that of the old woman who didn’t mind half of the agency stampeding through her well-deserved rest.

A shrill _beep_ makes the both of them jump – Ana’s hand flies towards her gun, already searching out for anything suspicious while McCree’s goes to his wrist. She’s still calming her racing heart when he crosses the room and presses something into her hand.

“Doc made me swear to give you meds when it was time,” he explains, waving his right arm and the battered watch he only ever wore on base, where he didn’t need to worry about losing or breaking it half as much. “Good thing, too, you were just starting to glare at me again.”

Ana’s scowl deepens, but his own smile doesn’t falter. It’s too fixed in place to appear natural, and the lines of his cheek tighten ever so slightly when she takes the pills and throws them back in her mouth without argument.

“I’m old, not an invalid,” she snaps, then points to the chair. “Sit down, you’re making me hurt just by looking at you.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jesse says, the lines of his mouth easing ever so slightly.

They sit in a strained silence – for Jesse, at least. Ana is content to sip at her water class while Jesse tried to pretend as though he’s just here for the camaraderie. When he breaks, his mouth falling open at last, Ana points her finger at him and glares, “If you apologize, I will have you benched until you undergo an mental health evaluation.”

Jesse’s mouth snaps shut, and he eases back into the cushion. “I was just-”

“No.”

“But-”

“ _No._ ”

“A-“

“ _No.”_

\--

“Whatever you want,” Ana says as Jack strides through the door. “The answer is no. I don’t care if the base is under attack again. I don’t care if Fareeha threw legos all over Gabriel’s office floor again. I don’t care if Torbjorn set another transport on fire again just to prove he could. I am on medical _leave_ and if one more of your agents walks through this door, I am ordering a box of turrets from Vishkar and making Reindhart set them up. _No._ ”

Morrison leaves.

At least _someone_ listens to her around here.

\--

She should have seen it coming- _honestly,_ it was Gabriel, which meant he’d be thinking in so many circles around her that she should have expected it. She’s had various agents drift through her door over the past week, but at this point, Ana’s snarled at so many of them, word’s gotten around.

Ana’s still bedridden, and she’s chewed her way through enough books that she almost dreads picking up another novel. Angela’s technology is good, but it doesn’t replace rest or substitute for age, especially with the amount of times she’s had to use her nanotech to help Ana bounce back from an injury. She’s tried to walk once or twice, but had given up on the idea temporarily when Angela had started to drop by for _friendly_ checkups without warning.

So, in abstract – yes. The longer she goes without seeing Gabriel, the deeper her suspicions sink. Still, not even he would risk Angela’s wrath by making her move before she was officially off bedrest, which meant his options are fairly limited.

A full frontal assault, however, is something she doesn’t quite see coming.

Gabriel sweeps through the door with the aura of confidence he liked to project in front of the agents, a smug, self-assured air that says _I’ve planned out this entire mission and no one will dare to make it go awry, so take that Ana Amari._

Or maybe she’s projecting a little bit. Ana carefully places the paperwork she’d been reviewing on the bedside table and takes a breath.

Behind him, Jesse, Oxton, even Shimada –with Fareeha’s hand grasped carefully in his own flesh one – come in, with various levels of shiftiness in their movements. Under her free arm, her daughter has some sort of box firmly clasped. Jack trails in behind them, giving her a sheepish look and a _what can you do?_ expression that takes in the entire room.

Fareeha plunks down the box in front of her and grins, oblivious to the sheepish expressions of the rest in the room behind her.

“Gabriel found a bunch of old games in storage!” she says, triumphant. “Since you’ve been so bored, I thought we could try some.”

“I couldn’t say no to her,” Gabriel says, smoothly, lips twitching ever-so-slightly. “Ah, here’s Angela.”

“Sorry I’m late,” she tells them, brightly.

“What did you bring?” Ana asks through gritted teeth, trying to smile at Fareeha. Gabriel tries, and drastically fails, to muffle his laugh with a cough.

“Risk!” Fareeha says, pulls the box of the top. “And a deck of cards!”

Ana doesn’t groan, but it’s a close thing. Jack and Gabriel are already eyeing each other from across the table as they set up the board on the long coffee table, carefully arranged so that Ana will be able to reach pieces even with her leg splayed out in front of her. Angela looks deceptively curious even as she slides a new pill bottle across the table towards Ana and Shimada just looks confused.

“We have too many people,” Ana tries.

“Jack and Gabe can team up!” Fareeha tells her excitedly. “Jesse said it would be fine.”

If Fareeha wasn’t her daughter, Ana would have been able to believe the guileless smile Fareeha levels at her. Jesse blanches, sprawling out on the floor as far away from Reyes as he can. _No. Please_ , he mouths at her. Gabriel drags his own chair to set up beside Ana, occasionally swapping her pieces around when she starts to doze off and pleading innocence when she catches him.

Ana settles back into her chair, not quite able to help the smile stealing across her lips as she watches Gabriel protest that _no,_ he’d already had a line in South America, what were they talking about and Jesse pretend like he hadn’t handed Fareeha a loaded set of die because rolling an almost constant stream of 6’s had to be natural.

Dr. Ziegler slips something in her hand and gives her a steady look. “Take it,” she orders, almost inaudible over the sound of Jack accusing Gabriel of sabotaging the assault.

“You’re paranoid, Reyes!”

It’s a sleeping pill, the type that Ana has been shoving between the seat cushions every time Angela tried to convince her to rest. Ana meets her eyes, raising an eyebrow as Jesse flings himself at Oxton, protesting some double cross or another.

“Rest,” Angela says, firmly. “I know who turned in the thirty page risk assessment of Gabriel’s latest base evacuation plan and the probability of it occurring. _Rest_.”

“Maybe someone should listen to Gabriel’s contingency plans.”

“Gabriel’s been waiting for someone to buy into his paranoia for the past five years. I bet he’d love a friendly ear. Fareeha found a box of Codenames. Jesse wants to give her and Shimada shooting lessons and Jack won’t let them onto the range without supervision.”

“Forget Moira,” Ana grumbles, taking the glass of water Angela slips into her free hand. “ _You’re_ the one we need to look out for. I should have known you’d be in league with Gabriel. ”

“Bed. Rest. If you try to pretend one more time that you haven’t been walking without crutches, I will let Torbjorn practice his lullabies on you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I heard Reinhardt’s looking for a friendly ear to talk about his latest draft of his novel.”

“You’re a monster,” Ana says, with absolute finality, brandishing the medicine back at Angela.

Dr. Ziegler smiles. “Fareeha’s birthday is coming up. I would be more than happy to buy her more games.”

“You _witch_.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please let me know!


End file.
